


Sticks Or Staffs

by wings128



Series: Pick A Number [5]
Category: Farscape, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crack, F/M, Multi, Sparring, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/pseuds/wings128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The defeated combatant takes the role of submissive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks Or Staffs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shanachie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanachie/gifts).



> written for shanachie_quill's prompt: _What do One, Two, and Thirteen like to do in their spare time?_ during the secret character meme on LJ

“Crichton says he can create wormholes without a gate.” Larrin murmured, her face turned in toward John’s shoulder like she was sharing the coordinates to a lucrative heist.

John nodded, it sounded cool in theory, but then so had an energy source that’d literally grown on trees, and that hadn’t turned out all that great; what with Heightmeyer and McKay. 

“He’s off on the calculations” John griped, lengthening his stride as they exited the transporter and headed down the corridor to the gym. He couldn’t ignore the lick of good old fashioned competitive jealousy that made him pout like a five year old. Apparently the ability to control a ten thousand year old flying cityship with his mind just wasn’t flavour-of-the-day when compared to whipping up a wormhole out of thin air. McKay, Zelenka and Woolsey had practically prostrated themselves at the guy’s feet. “Wrong galaxy, wrong year.” 

Larrin smirked, the devil in her eyes told John she knew _exactly_ what his problem was and was more than happy to help him out. John’d let her talk him into teaching her some Bantos moves, if he was honest, it was the thought of watching her move and her tits heave with exertion, that’d convinced him. He’d let her get in a few shots, let her relax, before making his move with the one-two strike Teyla had taught him last week. He’d feint left and scoop her knee out, take her to the mat, pin her d…

“Sheppard?” Larrin had come to a halt in the door of the large room with its wall of patterned windows, scattering of exercise equipment to one side, and open floor space cushioned by two inch thick mats.

Typical of the way John’s day was going, the room wasn’t empty. A woman in skin-tight leggings and black singlet was putting one of Ronon’s staffs through its paces. John couldn’t look away. Aeryn’s long black hair was tied back, hung down her spine, only to flick out as she moved her graceful limbs through fluid motions that spoke of skill and long practise; movements John knew carried a penalty of, if not death, then serious injury.

“Did you come to spar or not Sheppard?” Larrin goaded in that infuriatingly hot way that went straight to John’s dick, had him picturing what she’d feel like pressed all desperate and pleading between him and the nearest wall. John hadn’t thought about much more than the fastest way to get Larrin beneath him, get his hands and his tongue into all those soft, sweet places hidden by the dark brown leather of those damn pants. 

“With you two?” John swallowed and tried to look as if the idea _didn’t_ scare the crap out of him, while Larrin smirked as if she’d known all along what his plan was.

“Or you could watch.” Aeryn turned with a flourish to stand at ease, the staff tucked behind her right shoulder and mirroring the line of her body. “Though I should warn you Colonel Sheppard, the defeated combatant takes the role of submissive during the recreation that concludes every fitness session.”

John knew he was missing something in the gate’s translation program, but the hunger in Aeryn’s gaze as she eyed first Larrin then him was unmistakable; and yeah, he was up for this – literally. “Sticks or staffs?”

They went at it, no one giving quarter, no one participant scoring anything more than the infrequent bicep or thigh tap – that was until the women, by some unspoken agreement, flanked John simultaneously.

It was a move almost identical to what he’d been planning for Larrin, that found John flat on his back; chest sweaty and heaving, Larrin straddling his hips and Aeryn’s Bantos stick tucked against his windpipe in warning.

“This would be where you submit Colonel Sheppard.” Aeryn instructed, her voice steady in the same way Ronon’s always was when their sparring left John wiped out, and hanging onto his dignity as team leader by a thread.

John couldn’t form words as he tried to swallow past his tight dry throat. Heat flared over the surface of his skin, scorched beneath the wet of his cooling sweat, and Larrin had wriggled that ass of hers back; was grinding down, and _fuck!_ He was hard, getting harder still with each circle of those sweet hips, and she knew it; thin sweatpants didn’t hide a damn thing.

“Sheppard?” Larrin asked out of curiosity more than anything else. They all knew he’d lost but he couldn’t get a single syllable out – not when Aeryn had spread her thighs either side of his head and was leaning over him to reach Larrin.

The wet sound of them kissing above him had John raising his hands to slide over the lean muscle of Aeryn’s thighs. They shuddered at his touch but she didn’t pull away, seemed only to press back in reassurance. He could smell her, clean sweat and arousal that forced his hips up. Larrin pushed back and slid up his shaft, their clothing offering a new level of torture that forced a surprised groan from John. “That is the sound of defeat I admire.” 

John felt his cheeks flush; he’d been played, he knew it with every throbbing pulse of his starved dick, but it didn’t seem all that important a point as Aeryn shifted to the side and began rolling down her leggings. John could only _just_ spare a thought for locking the door as inch after inch of smooth creamy skin was revealed half a foot from his face.


End file.
